Mixed Martial Arts and Crafts

Someone was hunting me.

I sighed in exasperation. This was the third time this week, and the week still had three days to go. Persistent little bleep. All the tag-probes had the same flavor, but all I could get is “young, and a pest who doesn’t give a crap about rules.”

Unfortunately, I do – have to give a crap about rules, that is. There’s a reason I take the routes I do out of the city. Each one has at least one bolt hole, and most have places where I can quickly gather supplies. Sometimes two places, if I’m feeling rather depleted.

Fine. Two can play games…

I ducked into The Craft Store.

Did you hear the pun? Yes, soulless corporations are the great evil. Everyone thinks it’s gommints, but scratch any bought and paid for gommit official, and you’ll see the money trails lead right back to vampiric CEOs. It’s no surprise that the mom-and-pop places like craft stores, music stores, hobby shops, video games, movie rentals, all got gobbled up by the chains, which all eventually went under.

There’s a pretty serious enclave of magic users in my area, and they protected the mom and pop shops fiercely. Some even left Council to sit on the local gommit council, to prevent the warehouses from moving in and eventually bankrupting the moral fiber of the community, as they put it.

You know it was a fierce fight, when even Big Blue Wally takes off, with tail tucked between legs.

Moonshadow was in, swaying along to the New Age music playing. Ah, The Signal – there was someone in the shop, where I couldn’t see them yet, who was an unknown. Not a problem, usually, it’s a shop, and Ja- er, Moonshadow – will sell to anybody. Money is money, and the bills need to be paid. Just not the good stuff, the magic stuff. That would be as dangerous as giving a child a chainsaw.

I greeted the Moonshadow persona politely, which clued them in that I was seeking asylum. A key appeared, and they gave me permission to use the personal restroom before I shopped.

There is a restroom back there, sure, but it’s also the back room, where the good stuff was kept. And a rather potent ward circle, in case of emergency.

I didn’t think it was an emergency – yet. I just needed potent supplies.

Ah, dammit. It’s teal, it has glitter threads… I grabbed two skeins, and went out to pay.

I was coming out of the back room as the front door jingled, and watched the unknown person walk down the street, clutching a distinctive bag, looking rather oblivious. Moonshadow slumped, and became Jasmine. “Sorry about that, Jess, I wasn’t sure about that one. I wanted to make certain it wasn’t your stalker. Young, powerful, and asking interesting questions, while I fended off three probing spells from outside. I wanted to be cautious.”

“No worries, Mina. I think your shopper is younger than the ‘flavor’ I’m getting from the probes, and much more feminine, though she seems to be re-thinking that as well. That’s okay, that’s the perfect age to question assumptions. My stalker ‘tastes’ older, male, and thinking with genitalia instead of ganglia. The magical equivalent of a dick pic, and just as welcome.”

“Ugh. Well, that explains the sparkle yarn. Upping the swatting?”

“Yep. Let’s see how the twerp likes being taken for a ride, quite literally.”

“Still concerned the aura is a mask?”

“It’s happened before. You and I have both made enemies, who are sneaky and clever. Not to mention some exes, ugh.”

“You know, those probes… they have an old-new flavor. Like you know your stalker, and you don’t. Or you did. Hmm.”

I tapped the teal yarn skeins I’d chosen. “You know what my color is, so I went with something off-kilter. Something considered green, till history decided blue was a separate color. Something old-new. Maybe it will be enough.”

Mina bit their lip, then bent under the counter, came up with two skeins of bright yellow. “Just magic infused this morning. Add it to the spell.”

I stared. I was unhappy. “Mina, those are Vince’s colors.”

“Uh hunh. Knit in good health, and I really, really mean that.”

I paid, and left.

My time in the back room, under heavy shields, was what I needed. I got to my seat on the train before the next probe came my way. This time, I was getting annoyed, so I swatted it away, hard. And force-grounded it, as if I set up a lightning rod. Not awful if you’re an earth sign, or using earth elements to do the work, but if you’re using air…

I could feel the backlash, vibrating up the whisper-thin probe line. Oooh, that was gonna hurt when it landed.

I got to work. Special knitting needles, spell pattern set in my mind, reach into bag and find the end on the first pull, knit five purl five.

Ribbed for your protection.

Now, when magic users take the train regularly, there’s a lot of scrambled energy. Sure, you can use it, but it’s like eating dirty food. It’s better to clean it, prepare it right, before using. Most magic users string little personal wards and protections through the tunnels like backyard lights. We can also wear strong, personal, wards. Or something that cleans the energy for us, so we can use it.

Me? I have to be different, of course. I take all that tangled energy, and stitch it into my knitting. I stroll out of the subway with an awesome scarf, or sweater, or belt, or vest, or hat. I get through the day’s work, maybe knit another on the way back, or use the first one like a sieve or net. It depends on the day, and my mood, and how badly the day went. The large homeless population near my exit gets the ones I don’t need to keep, and residuals in the knitting help them recover.

While others are depleted by the ride, I thrive in it. Weirdos? I’m a witch. And knitting needles look a lot like magic wands. I wield two at a time. One or two encounters were enough to get the word around, and now everybody is nice and polite in my rail car.

The probes got more frequent, and more insistent. If a few of my stitches were off, it doesn’t matter to the spell. Occasionally I’d mutter something under my breath, and jam one needle skyward, like I was poking something on the roof.

Perhaps I was.

My fingers know what to do, so I could recite spells in my mind while arms, fingers, joints, muscles flashed on like some sort of magical tango.

It would be soon. But in the car, or outside? While the train was running? I made the snap decision to go to the end of the line, to keep everyone else out of harm’s way. They may not have rules, but I do.

Second last stop – and he’s suddenly on board, as the last person left my car.

And my heart turned over, but my fingers never stopped.

I found my voice. “My word, you look like a miniature Vince. Are you his kid, or did Vince steal a child’s body?”

The kid flinched. “I – I’m me. I won’t give you my name. The one you call Vince is my father.”

“So he sent you on an errand that he was too cowardly to do himself? That doesn’t speak well of your father, Son of Vince. It implies he doesn’t want to get damaged, but he’s perfectly fine with you getting hurt.”

“No! He – he wouldn’t do that. I made this decision myself.”

“If so, Vince would have stopped you. You should be under thick shields that prevent you from haring off till you’re ready to sojourn. So, knowing how Vince operates, he’s just poured tales of woe into your ear about how I mistreated him, making me out to be an evil enemy. Yet he has never come for me. Think, kid, think hard. The pieces aren’t adding up, and you’re being set up to take his fall.”

He flinched and shook his head. “No! You’re just trying to trick me!”

“Kid, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to wipe you off the board. Your probes were clumsy, easily caught, easily deflected. I could have crocheted them into a net and wrapped you up in your own spells. I could have poked holes in your shields and let your emotions drain into the sewer. I could have skewered your father through you. I’ve told you nothing except your father is using you, and Vince couldn’t keep the truth off his face, and you’re much like him. You know I’m telling the truth, you know he’s a lying scumbag, but you’re clinging to loyalty. It’s all you have from him. He won’t return your loyalty, no matter what you do. He will use you, and discard you when you’re useless to him. Ask me how I know.”

“No!” He fired a shot of some magic at me, but I’d tucked the ends into my spell weave. Instead of blocking and returning, I did something they never expect – I captured his shot in the folds of my newly-made scarf.

It glowed. It struggled. It even cried, sounding like a newborn kitten. I cradled it, spoke a spell to it, even petted it through the fabric. Glitter teal and bright yellow, they shouldn’t work together, but this time, it was designed to even out the toxicity, let it trickle out and vanish.

I didn’t pay any attention to the kid. I knew I was holding his life essence in my hands, poor kid had never been taught properly. I thought a few bad things about Vince, and what I would like to do to him if I came across him again.

Instead, I decided to do something even worse.

I spoke a spell of therapeutic healing – look, don’t ask, but as a Crafter, I have many friends, one of whom is an art therapist, makes for many interesting ideas for spells – and I got up from my seat, swayed carefully over to Son of Vince on a moving train, and looped the scarf around him. Two, three loops, tucked in the ends, and pressed the energy back into his chest.

He had been lying on his back, gasping, waiting for me to kill him while he was helpless. Instead, I gave him back his life.

He was sobbing, babbling, letting the energy he spent, that I enhanced, trickle back into his body.

I went back to my seat, and waited.

Eventually, he crawled to a chair. Near me, but not close. He was hugging the scarf, and I swear I could see the scarf hugging him back. I narrowed my eyes. “Okay, that’s a side effect I didn’t anticipate. Let me guess – Vince is still against familiars? He is a fool. It looks like you and I have collaborated. That will not sit well with the father figure.”

He shuddered. “I can’t go home,” he said in a small voice. “He will destroy Noodle, and that will destroy me.”

My scarf had a name? A personality?

I sighed. “You can’t come home with me. That would be unwise. But there’s a network, we can smuggle you somewhere he won’t find you. But you’ll have to trust me. Can you do that?”

He sighed. “You could have killed me. Still can. You’re already more trustworthy than Dad.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

We sat in silence, listening to the rattling of the rails. A pulled out my phone, texted, waited for a response.

Ding.

I glanced at the message, sighed in relief. “Right. Help is on the way, will meet us at the station. I hope you like cats.”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been allowed to be around them. Do they bite?”

“Some, but not these. He runs a cat sanctuary. He’s also a witch, not a warlock, with some of the implications baked in. Be polite, to all the creatures that live there, and maybe some will talk to you. Pat will teach you properly.”

I could feel the train slowing down. I gathered my supplies, stuffed them in my bag. “I’ll wait with you, he’s got a bit of travel to get here. We’ll go for food.”

He brightened, then wilted. Dammit, I was going to shred Vince, if I ever saw him. I could tell too many promises were broken. “Is there a Chinese place nearby? I love egg rolls.”

“Jade Garden it is. Have you ever tried lo mein? I’ll get some, and you can try mine. And enough fried rice to split, because why not? You choose the flavor.”

After the look he gave me, rules or no rules, I’d have cheerfully strangled Vince. But first, the important things: feeding a kid.

We ended up getting dumplings and shrimp toast as well, and Son of Vince put a hurting on all of it. I had a quiet word with the owner, and towards the end, he came over with some filled to-go boxes that were steaming. I pointed at three nearest to him. “Those are extras for you. These over here, are for you to make friends. Enough pieces of chicken for each cat to get two. They’re generally polite about sharing, and will line up for treats, but do it when Pat is present, they behave better when he’s watching. Speaking of-”

Pat came bouncing up to our table, blew a kiss to the cashier, and plopped down aside of me. And proceeded to make short work of the rest of the leftovers, as I knew he would. “Right. First mission accomplished. I am replete. Hi, kid, I’m Pat, let’s get you to your new home. Grab your boxes, I’ll grab the cat bribes, and we’ll get you settled in. Jay, you know I’ll be in touch. Let’s go-” And like a voracious whirlwind, he and the kid were gone.

I also waved to the cashier, who happens to be part of my coven. I’m sure that had nothing to do with my choice of eatery. No one messes with them; they have real fu dogs guarding the place. Uncanny.

I thought over the situation, as I took a taxi home. I would need to have some consultations. I didn’t like how the kid was set up, not one bit, and something needed to be done about it. The rules said I wasn’t allowed to take revenge, but take justice? That’s a whole ‘nother creature, and I had to explore it.

My knitting bag jumped, and a few yarn ends waved. Hunh. Guess I had allies, and two or three skeins with which to make another familiar.

I wasn’t sure it was allowed. I also wasn’t sure I cared.

You must learn the rules, before breaking them. Some just jump ahead, and don’t realize why the rules exist. There are reasons for each one, and you break them at your peril.

Maybe it was time to be a little perilous.